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Erica smiled at her, warmly. “We'll miss you, too, sweetie. You'll be back soon. You and your mom. I know it. We won't let so much time pass now.”

She didn't know if it was self-torture, or selfishness, insanity, or the simple irresistable desire to be near them all one last time, but after she called downtown for a ticket to Oklahoma City on the 11:55 bus–leaving tonight–she dressed in her jean skirt and a clean white blouse Erica lent her, brushed her hair and teeth, though she couldn't manage a drop of make-up with her wooden fingers, and climbed into the passenger seat of Erica's car. Her bag was packed upstairs. She looked hard at everything one last time, because this was it, the last time she would see any of it wreathed in daylight.

The kids were in the backseat, dressed up and giggling and talking excitedly; Bryce said, “Erica, you look so pretty.”

She did, her gorgeous red hair falling over her shoulders, in a soft dress the color of a ripe peach, pearls at her throat.

Evelyn followed up. “Daddy will love that you're wearing his pearls.”

Erica smiled at her daughter in the rearview mirror as she turned onto the road towards the Lodge. “Thanks, you two.” To Bryce she added, “Wilder gave me these as a wedding present, 15 years ago today.”

“They were Grandma's,” Evelyn explained.

“Mom, will we get to stay and dance all night?” Emma asked then, and Bryce almost smiled at the tone of voice she had grown to anticipate.

“Honey, you guys are going home with Jenny, remember?”

“Okay,” she agreed, somewhat mollified. Then, “Bryce, why do your eyes look all funny?”

“
Emma!
” Evelyn and Erica spoke together.

“Well, they're all squishy-looking,” Emma said, sticking to her guns.

“Emma, you are such a dope,” Cody told his twin. Even though he agreed with Emma, to Bryce he added, “You look really nice.”

“Thanks, Code. I just have a headache. But please don't mind me. We're going to have such a good time tonight.” The speech cost nearly all of her bravado. But Erica even bought it, because she reached over and squeezed Bryce's left knee, saying, “Yes, we will.”

Emma's next inquiry made Bryce's heart bolt up out of her chest, and she had to look hard out the window to compose herself. Emma said, “Where's Uncle Matty been all day? Uncle Riley said he didn't show up at the beach.”

Evelyn said, “He drove over to Fairfield to grab a couple of things for tonight. Remember, Daddy ordered special champagne?”

“Oh. Can I try some?”

“No way, fish-lips!”

“Cody Patrick!”

“Fish-
breath!
”

The Lodge parking lot was festooned with pink and peach balloons, Erica and Wilder's two wedding colors. Across the grand front entrance stretched a banner reading CONGRATS TO THE WORLD'S BEST COUPLE. Bryce wildly scanned the vehicles, but saw no sign of Matthew's big truck. Much as time had passed for her at Daniel Sternhagen's funeral, things seemed to be hovering behind a thin, nauseating haze. Only now the ache in her body was a thousand times worse; this time, she knew exactly what she was walking away from. How much it was like leaving large, vital chunks of herself behind. People all around her were having a wonderful time under the glimmering lights, swirling on the dance floor to Bailey Ryan's band, drinking, laughing, joking, congratulating Erica and Wilder, who had remained virtually hip to hip throughout the evening, arms around each other, smiling, kissing occasionally…until the pain in Bryce's chest intensified to an unbearable degree. Her eyes teared up over and over; to her relief, no one was inclined to notice.

Matthew was nowhere to be seen. Bryce sat at a long table topped with peach-colored linen, bowls of pink roses and abandoned drink glasses, watching the crowd intently, her stomach too keyed up to sip anything other than water. She longed for something about 100 proof, though, and a full bottle. Throughout the evening she vaguely recalled chatting with Debbie, Riley and Kelly Iverson, her cousins, saw Angie Strickland arrive on the arm of a tall, good-looking guy she didn't recognize, and around 9:30, Jenny Ryan's folks carted Cody, Emma, and several others kids home; shortly after, Evelyn left with a group of teenagers. Bryce hugged her hard, her heart hammering. Around 10:00 she was making her way back from the bathroom, thinking she should just head to the bus station now, when Wilder caught up with her and said, “Hey there, stranger, how about a dance?”

She nodded, let him lead her into the couples; her internal radar was slashing the crowd, but Matthew had not yet appeared. Her entire chest felt as though a metal band had it cinched mercillessly tight. The music was slow, swanky, something from a much different era. Wilder spun her neatly around, said, “Erica told me you were leaving tomorrow. We are sure going to miss you, kiddo.”

He looked so handsome, his blue eyes kind and gentle, his lips smiling at her, his blond hair so like her mother's hanging loose tonight. She thought,
If you knew the truth, you would take back those words
. And for a moment, she felt a small measure of comfort, no matter how much it killed her.

“I'll miss you guys, too,” she replied, looking hard into his eyes for a moment, wanting to tell him everything and yet so glad he would never have to know; when Nate Ryan, tall and dark and grinning at her, moved to cut in, she moved effortlessly into his arms, as empty as a trunk that had once held gold.

***

A half-mile
up the darkened road, at the front counter of the gas station, Wade Thompson was asking Cliff Berg, “How do I get to the Sternhagen place?”

Cliff counted out Wade's change, was about to ask the newcomer if he meant the Pull Inn or their house when Randy Strickland, on duty and milling around the coffee pot, called, “They're out at the Lodge tonight, Cliff, remember? It's Wilder and Erica's anniversary.”

“Shit, that's right,” Cliff said, and pointed down the road to the right. “It's no more than two minutes up that-a-way, young fellow.”

“Thanks,” Wade said, drawing his thumb across his upper lip. He pocketed his change and made for the door quickly; Cliff went back to his
Car and Driver
, but Randy's gaze followed curiously.
Shit
, he thought, suspiscious for a moment as he poured himself a 24 ounce slugger of coffee. But then he sipped and shrugged it off.

***

“You look
so beautiful tonight,” Nate was saying, and Bryce couldn't so much as force a smile; her lips felt like marble. It was already 10:30, and she needed to leave this minute if she planned to make the bus. She felt as though she were watching a movie, once again apart from everything, moving as though choreographed. The pain was waiting to ambush her, she knew, but she would make it through these last moments…

And if Matthew doesn't show?

My heart is already fucking broken, slashed, ripped apart. Please just let me see him one last time. That's all. I just need to see his eyes one last time, know that
he'll be all right.

I can't do this. I can't bear it
.
Matthew. Oh, God. Matthew. Where are you?

Her knees buckled, causing her to droop; Nate, thinking she was slightly drunk, laughed and hauled her closer, bent his dark head to whisper in her ear, “How about the next one, too?”

She tried to shake her head, a buzzing in her ears. Her back was to the front entrance at that moment, as a stranger came swinging through the doors then, a tall sandy-haired guy, built, wearing jeans and a green button-down shirt. Amid curious glances he scanned the crowd, his eyes glittering…and suddenly locked on Bryce and Nate. Without a word he stalked forward.

Bryce saw a hand swoop around her right arm and clamp down on Nate's shoulder. She gasped, thinking it was Matthew, but in the next second, and the horrible next, she realized, one nightmare on top of another, that it was Wade, that somehow Wade Thompson was standing here on the parquet dance floor at Rose Lake Lodge.

“Oh, Jesus, Wade,” she uttered, floored by his sudden appearance. He unceremoniously ignored her and instead gripped a large handful of Nate's shirtfront, then backpedaled him furiously, creating a huge rift in the crowd and a surge of surprised, excited voices in his wake. Without stopping to analyze the situation, knowing Wade's temper, unable even to imagine how blood-curdlingly angry he was right now, Bryce tried frantically to run after the two of them, elbowing her way through the babbling, shifting mass of people who all tried to follow Nate Ryan and some crazy stranger. The music stopped with a squeal and a twang as Bailey Ryan yelled, “Hey!” and jumped off the stage.

Outside under the stars in the Lodge parking lot, Wade was breathing hard and wasted not one second. Bryce arrived outside, breathless, in time to hear, “That's my woman, you stupid son of a bitch!” and Nate's reply, “Hey, you got this all wrong, bud—” before Wade's curled right fist snapped Nate's head back and Nate roared, surging back up and leaping for Wade. Someone screamed. Time seemed to freeze, Bryce along with it, pressing both fists to her gut. But then there was a small break in the crowd and she dashed through.

Wade and Nate grappled with arms locked around each other's torsos. Bryce reached them, her heart clubbing, and screeched, “WADE! STOP IT!”

She didn't think and made a leap onto Wade's back, got her right arm around his thick neck. He sagged backward, trying to shake her off, but she clung like a monkey. He was breathing hard, his body tensile with anger. Nate had managed to free his arms and caught Wade in the chest with a sharp blow.

Matthew, just pulling up, stared out his windshield at the crowd in the parking lot, killed his engine and climbed down, straining to see why everyone was gathered in a huge cluster; in the next moment, he heard a name that sent fire zinging all through his blood.

“Bryce,
goddamn it!
” Wade bellowed, hampered by her from defending himself, and he flung an elbow, catching her against the side of the head and knocking her flat to the pavement. There was a collective gasp and from where he had managed to shove his way through the crowd, frantic, Matthew's eyes went black. He didn't remember later exactly what happened, though everyone who witnessed it told a version of how he moved like some kind of demon. The next thing he was conscious of through the red haze was being dragged by four men, one of them Nate, off the prostrate form of the man who'd hurt Bryce, and the next, the fact that his both his hands felt broken.

Voices swarmed like a hive of alternately shocked and furious bees. Matthew flung his arms and yelled, “Get the hell off me!” He looked wildly around for Bryce.

Riley was suddenly iron-fisting his best friend's shoulders, his face clenched with anxiety.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sternhagen, get ahold of yourself!” Riley hissed at him, shaking Matthew as only he dared to do. Behind them, Bryce was sobbing, kneeling on the ground near Wade.

Matthew was too overwrought, too keyed up, and he said, low and dangerous, “Let me go, Riley, I fucking mean it.”

The two were nearly eye to eye. Riley pleaded quietly, “Don't do this to yourself, Matthew.”

But it was already done. Matthew ducked out of the grip and as instinctively as a magnet to true north moved to Bryce, dropping to a crouch 12 inches from her.

“Did he hurt you?” he demanded harshly, his heart constricting to see her tears. It took all his strength not to turn and finish the guy off for good. Bryce's eyes, wide with real fear, met his and she thought,
Oh, God, this is it, isn't it…it's so unfair…Matthew, oh Matthew…

There was no hiding anything anymore.

“This man needs an ambulance!” someone yelled then.

“Sternhagen, you're in for it,” someone else added. The buzzing crescendoed; people were bending down and clustering around Wade, who moaned a little and rolled his head to the left.

Matthew said, “Bryce.” Agony ripped though her as she stared back into his dark, tortured eyes, with Wilder, Erica, and nearly every last person in town looking on.

She said, “Oh, God, your hands…”

He looked down and saw bright blood, realized afresh how much pain was coursing through his forearms and fingers.

“Somebody call the cops!”

“I already did! They're on the way!”

“Get Randy out here!”

Matthew looked at her lips, her eyes, affixing it all to his memory as a toxic pain spilled from his heart and coursed through his blood. Despite everything she'd said on the dock last night, he whispered, “I love you, Bryce. I'll never stop.”

And she damned it all, damned the eyes all around, the voices and the accusations. She flung herself into his arms and clung, sobbing again, and he wrapped her close, closed his eyes against her neck, his hands searing with pain as he held her as tight as he could. “Oh, Matthew, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” she choked through her tears, fiercely. “Oh, God.”

In the next second they were ripped apart.

Matthew was cuffed and hauled into the back of Randy Strickland's cop car amid a gaggle of wide eyes and stunned voices, the people he'd known his entire life witnessing this incredible turn of events. Bryce pressed her fists to her mouth as he was taken from her, the starch going completely out of her bones; when Angie Strickland reached down and hauled her to her feet, she didn't even try to resist.

“You little slut!” Angie cried, her voice shrill. “You were fucking him, weren't you? You were
fucking him!
”

Bryce, abject, did not even respond; she was staring at the cop car in which Matthew had been shoved. She couldn't see into the tinted windows of the car that was going to take him away from her. Panic clawed her throat. She didn't notice Angie's arm tense up; Angie was blind with rage and shock, and she reared back with her right hand and smacked Bryce across the face with all of her strength. Bryce reeled in pain, almost going to her knees.